


Domestic

by nerdqueenenterprise



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: M/M, old married culmets, this is just plain fluff with sass idk what to tell you guys, warnings for extreme domestic feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 15:05:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15051818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdqueenenterprise/pseuds/nerdqueenenterprise
Summary: Twenty years later and they're stillthem.





	Domestic

Hugh manages to interrupt Paul before he can tell the complete truth and explains that it’s an accident that led to Paul’s hand bleeding. It’s true, technically, and the doctor doesn’t say anything and in under half an hour, they’re both out of the hospital and Hugh is plugging their destination - home - into the car.

Paul giggles.

“What?”

“You’re a surgeon, Hugh. How do you manage to be that, you know, _bad_ at these things?”

“Ex-surgeon.” He tries but fails at being grumpy, because Paul doesn’t exactly deserve it.

Paul snuggles up to him.

“You know, buying a fixer-upper may have been a mistake.”

“You really think so?” he asks, trying but probably failing to keep the worry out of his voice.

“No! No, not really, but… this might be a lot more work than we anticipated. I mean… day one and you already got hurt and swore so much that I managed to slash my palm open and we had to go to the hospital. Are you sure we’re meant to build up a home?”

Hugh kisses Paul on the tip of his nose, making him scrunch his face up.

“We can do this.”

 

 

 

 

By the end of the first week, the roof is patched thanks to a whole bunch of young people from Hugh’s family; by the end of the second week the place is isolated and the deck is fixed, and by the end of the first month they can actually get started on picking paint.

“Blue is calming but too much blue is too overwhelming, so we should pick a nice light blue for the bedroom. And the living room should be something pastel maybe? Yellow, maybe, since we get sunshine in there pretty much all the time.” Paul swipes through the magazine. “Or peach? And the bathroom could stay white, or maybe green? Or the kitchen could be green, with blue stripes? Do we want stripes? Wait, _Home and Garden_ say that stripes can also be very disturbing to the eye, and if we don’t manage to paint the stripes perfectly straight, that might be a problem. Or we keep the kitchen white. Or we paint one wall of the kitchen and leave the rest white. Oh, and for the bedroom - I saw this concept somewhere that had the walls in baby blue but the ceiling in a darker blue, so that might look great! Hugh? What do you think?”

“Do we have to paint the walls? What about the decals you saw, wouldn’t they work as well?”

“Of course we have to paint the walls!” Paul squints at him. 

Hugh kisses the wrinkles on his forehead and pushes his nose into Paul’s hair.

“What about wallpapers?”

“If you actually manage to find pretty ones, sure.” Paul tugs at Hugh’s shirt until they can look each other in the eyes again. “But I also didn’t dream of building a home with you to then not argue over every last thing.”

“I don’t want to fight with you. But I’m also not entirely sure we really want to paint every wall.”

Paul kisses him then, short and sweet but with enough cheek that Hugh can practically taste his sass. 

“Love,” he says. “I wasn’t fighting. I don’t want to fight. But I do want every bit of insufferable couple bickering possible while we do this. I want to have to stop everything we’re doing at least once so we can shut each other up with kisses. I want to have half an hour discussions about whether we get Baby Eye Blue or Forget-Me-Not Blue for the bedroom wall, I want to spend ten minutes discussing kitchen containers for flour and sugar, and I - Hugh, I want to keep doing this forever. Building a home that is all ours and not at all Starfleet accommodation.”

“You’re such a romantic.” Hugh leans his forehead against Paul and smiles and tries to pretend his heart isn’t breaking because there is no way he can fit this much happiness into it.

Paul’s fingers find his and rub over the golden ring on his fourth finger.

“You’ve known me for twenty years and you only realize that now? I’m betrayed, shocked, hurt and - mmpf!”

Hugh keeps his lips on Paul’s and pretends Paul isn’t pretending to squirm away. 

 

 

 

 

They spend close to two hours just picking out colors, and in those few moments where Hugh isn’t distracted by trying not to be distracted by how much he loves his husband and them arguing about colors and color theories and color meanings and the psychological influence colors can have… in those moments he’s able to enjoy the look on the store clerk’s face, partly annoyed but mostly jealous in the way Hugh has noticed a lot of people look when he and Paul do this thing they always do - the old married couple bickering that’s equal parts sass and just deep, deep love.

They finally do choose Forget-Me-Not Blue for the bedroom and a beautiful Sunflower Yellow for two walls in the living room, white for the kitchen and a few more assorted colors here and there and they spend enough time in the painting equipment aisle that by the time they get home they’re exhausted enough to just order pizza and curl up in bed.

Hugh wraps himself around Paul’s side and lets his hand rest on Paul’s stomach.

“I know what you mean,” he says. “It’s… domestic. And you are the love of my life.”

“I know.”

He doesn’t need to look to know Paul is sticking his tongue out to be cute, but he does it anyways. 

“I love you Paul.”

“I know that too.”

Hugh pokes Paul in the side, making him squeal and wriggle into him.

“You’re supposed to say it back!”

Paul squirms until Hugh lets him turn and press his face into Hugh’s neck.

“I, Paul Deane Stamets, take you, Hugh Culber, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold and to annoy the hell out of and to steal your shirts, from ever since I insulted your taste in music, but certainly from ever since I first saw you shirtless, for better and for worse, in sickness and in health, to love you every day, until you shave your beard. Amen.”

“Are those the vows you planned to say? Wow, Paul, wow. Until I shave my beard?”

Paul bites him and laughs to himself.

“I like your beard.”

“I noticed. I like… all of you, by the way. I don’t objectify my husbands, but that’s maybe just me.”

“… your husbands? You have several? Well, in that case - at least _I_ am monogamous.”

“Well, that Captain Kirk doesn’t look too shabby, and I bet _he_ doesn’t objectify _his_ husband.”

“Aww, baby, I didn’t mean that. I love more than just your beard. Also - Kirk? Really? No offence, but when you said that I’m hot, I took that to mean you had good taste.”

Hugh laughs. “I’ll let you know I have great taste in men, my dear husband. Also - yeah, Kirk is hot. Grow some eyeballs.”

Paul wriggles again and squeezes his arms around Hugh’s middle.

“Baby, don’t be upset now, it’s completely normal that your eyes fail you when you get old.”

“Don’t call me baby, I’m sixty-three.” Hugh puts as much indignation into his voice as he can.

“Oh, sorry. Grandpa.”

“What did you just call me?”

“Nothing!” Paul sounds sweeter than sugar. “I love youuu! Good night.”

Hugh curls his hand into Paul’s hair and grins stupidly at the ceiling.

 

 

 

 

Paul spends the entire time they take choosing a dining table wrapped around Hugh from behind while Hugh argues the pros and cons seemingly with himself, and then they have coffee and some bagels and he won’t let go of Hugh’s hand. 

They drive over to the kitchen supply store and somehow Paul ends up with a fresh hickey on his neck and his hair a lot more fluffed up than before and they argue over what diameter their plates should have. Hugh kisses Paul’s hand and lets him choose what pots and pans he wants since, let’s face it, he’s the cook.

 

 

 

 

They spend almost an hour trying out their new shower when it gets put in, and afterwards the bathroom is so fogged up Paul can draw mushrooms along every lower edge of any fogged up surface, and big hearts everywhere else. Hugh adds P+H into them while Paul draws more mushrooms. When he gets up, his back pops audibly and he groans half-jokingly.

Hugh just stares.

“What?”

Hugh still stares.

“What?! Yeah, I know I’m getting older. So’re you.”

“Paul?” Hugh’s voice feels thick and he has to swallow.

The annoyance is gone from Paul’s face, and it’s replaced with worry. “Yeah?”

Hugh steps closer to him. Strokes a wet lock of hair from Paul’s forehead. Cups his husband’s cheek. Leans his head against Paul’s and closes his eyes because he needs to breathe for a moment before he can speak.

“Hugh?”

“Do you remember?” he begins, voice trembling. “Do you remember waking up after that first spore drive jump and the only thing you had to say was, ’Fucking shrooms’? Do you remember how badly I tried not to be mad at you but I snapped at you anyways once we were off shift? Do you remember how you were almost scared to cuddle me that night because you were still afraid I’d hate you? And then… all the time afterwards. I couldn’t - I could barely concentrate on shift sometimes because I was so worried. I never thought - it felt like that was the only, the only time we’d get. And then you fell into that coma, and I thought it really was all over, that our time together was over, and then I died, and then… getting back together after that, and, and now we’re here. Twenty years later. And we’re married and we’re not dead and we’re going to get old together.”

Paul’s fingers curl against Hugh’s sides and he breathes a kiss to Hugh’s lips. 

“I remember,” he says. “I also still remember the first time we kissed. I remember talking about moving in together once you’d join _Discovery_. I remember how incredibly anxious I was the night before. And… and I also remember you practically not sleeping during the whole spore drive thing, love. I remember the way you’d touch the implants, later, with that pained look on your face.And I guess… I just - for better or for worse, right? In sickness, in health, all that. I’m sorry that so much of the worse has been because of me.”

“That’s not what I meant. I - yeah, you’re - you made some choices that… that didn’t help me sleep, but you always made the right choices. I just, I’ll never be happy unless I can wrap you completely in bubble wrap, of course. But I meant… you know, we got through that. But at the time… sometimes, sometimes I was so afraid that that was all the time we’d get, you know? That there would be no growing old together. That… that twenty years later there would be no Paul Stamets in my life anymore.” Hugh opens his eyes again and meets Paul’s. “And there isn’t. There’s a Paul Stamets- _Culber_ in my life, and I love him _so_ much.”

Paul smiles and turns his head to kiss the inside of Hugh’s wrist.

“I… I… I love you too. You’re the center of my universe, Hugh. I know I said that in my vows too, but… it’s true. And there isn’t a single second where I regretted loving you. And… now we’re here, and, yeah, twenty years later and you’re still making dreams come true that I didn’t even know I had. You’ve never been anything less than the love of my life, Hugh. I’m the luckiest guy in the galaxy, and I know it.”

**Author's Note:**

> there wasn't enough old married culmets. there still isn't, but i have ten fingers and an unlimited amount of fics i can write so *cracks knuckles* watch me  
> anyways i hope you enjoyed this lil thing! please leave a comment if you did, and come say hi on [@shroom-boi](http://www.shroom-boi.tumblr.com)!


End file.
